Forfeits, Fears, and Demigods
by scorpiaux
Summary: After a 100 year hiatus, Katara discovers her new editor-in-chief is the famed Avatar – only after she realizes he's sweet on her. If she wants to keep her job, no one can know about their office rendezvous, or Aang's secret status. But truths are hard to hide. Modern AU. Main: Kataang, Tokka. Rated M for adult themes.
1. Gaoxing Lunwen Press

_**Forfeits, Fears, and Demigods **_

_**Summary**: After a 100 year hiatus, Katara discovers her new editor-in-chief is the famed Avatar – only after she discovers he's sweet on her. If she wants to keep her job, no one can know about their office rendezvous, or Aang's secret status. Modern AU, Multi-Chaptered. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M._

* * *

_**Author's Note**: I have three fictions on this website I feel inclined to apologize for: "Fortune Cookies," "Big City White Boys," and "What Happens in the Swamp" – all unfinished, all somewhat premature in their development. Before any of you jump to their defenses, believe me that as the author, I feel these fictions lack in dimension and artistic prose._

_That said, I hope this story, in some way, will make up for them._

_This is not to say that I do not intend to finish them (though I may never finish them despite the good intentions). Just believe me that I can do better (such a subjective word!)._

_And of course, love me, hate me – all the same – just review me, my dear readers._

_Much love, your honored scorpiaux_

* * *

The rumors that preceded Aang's arrival in the office were numerous, some bizarre, but all were fundamentally true.

Firstly, he was young. Some twenty-three years old – if even that – freshly shaved and freshly graduated from a prestigious university in the Fire Nation. Secondly, and contrary to this point, he was a direct descendent of the Air Nomads, the very people the Fire Nation Army sought to extinguish some fifty years ago. With the war newly over, and only a few descendants remaining, Aang was a living relic. He had sought refuge in the humanities and found it, the successful outcome of minority scholarships and funds, and so when Gaoxing Lunwen Press offered him an interning position, Aang jumped at the chance. The residing editor, an old Air Nomad by the name of Gyatso, quickly turned Aang into his successor over the course of a single summer.

There were other rumors, certainly – those of the frivolous variety. Aang was single and conventionally attractive. He shaved his head like the ancients did but wore modern garments. The small swirling arrow tattooed above his right brow moved with his expressions – and he was quite expressive, always grinning ear to ear except when consumed with his work. He made bad jokes and loved puns. He went to the gym. Not daily, but enough. He always wore a gray suit to the office with a pressed yellow or orange shirt. The only part of this ensemble that changed daily was the tie. Some humorous, some fashionable, some plain, Aang wore a different tie every weekday.

No one saw him on the weekends. No one asked about his family – though if anyone did, it would have been Gyatso. After Aang's interning summer, no one saw him during the fall season. He seemed to dissipate as quickly as he had appeared. Then, in January, Gyatso announced suddenly he had chosen a successor.

Then there were the snide remarks, the prejudice, the general jealousy.

Why had Gyatso chosen some lowly intern? Just because he hailed from the same race? After a summer of fetching coffees and wrestling with the copy machine, suddenly Aang was qualified to run an entire office. It was unfair to overlook those with more experience simply because they did not match Gyatso's esthetic ideal. This left many embittered in the office, but most notable was the busy-bee, and Gyatso's secret favorite (though, as it turned out, only the second favorite): the Water Tribe graduate, Katara.

At twenty-seven years, Katara was the youngest member of Gaoxing Lunwen prior to Aang's arrival. She had dedicated five years of her post-graduate life to the institution, which sought to bring cultural and historic facts to the public. All the books, articles, and journals published by Gaoxing Lunwen were educational. Editorial pieces were closely monitored and carefully evaluated before going to press. To date, and despite her age, Katara was quickly becoming the most prolific contributor to the press. Her sole focus was reviving the dying arts, educating what she considered an ignorant public, and – selfishly so, but true nonetheless – establishing a name. True to her heritage, Katara specialized in Water Tribe culture, history, society, and philosophy. But her secondary interest – and a quickly budding one, at that – was the world's underdog, the Air Nomads.

A year ago, Gyatso mentioned to the company that he wanted a young successor to take his place. He estimated a two year wait before making his decision, and at the time, Katara believed she was a certain choice. She was, after all, the youngest. And she and Gyatso were friends.

She spent Wednesday mornings in Gyatso's grand mahogany office, chatting over soy lattes about anything from grand historic events to the most recent applying authors. They discussed the weather, or Katara's eccentric brother – a freelance poet and painter newly embracing cubism and nudes. Gyatso often mentioned his late copy editor (Katara assumed they were lovers though Gyatso would never fess up to it) or old friends. There were days Katara mustered up the bravery to ask Gyatso about his generation, or the Fire Nation attacks, but his eyes would glaze over in a silent plea to pause.

Despite her interest and investment, Katara knew when to stop. In her five years with the company, she had yet to finish reading all of Gyatso's research.

In this respect, though she was interested in the new employee, Aang's arrival introduced a tension Katara had never anticipated. Here was this grinning young fool, younger than her and possibly stupider, already in a position she had dreamed of since her undergraduate days. She felt cheated, and the sentiment resonated deep because of her respect for Gyatso, a man she cherished like a grandfather.

He had broke the news to Katara first, and – not knowing how to react – she had politely left his office with a sour taste under her tongue. Gyatso had presented Katara with Aang's file. Outside of the handsome photo, his credentials were otherwise unremarkable.

A fellow office member shook her from her impending self-pity. Suki clasped Katara's shoulder and she jumped. "Why the gloomy face, hun? Long day ahead?"

"Something like that."

"What did Head Fossil want?"

"Don't call him that," Katara warned over the coffee pot.

Suki said with a wink, "Journalism seeks the truth, yes?"

"Sometimes we are misled, it seems."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Katara stirred in a packet of sugar. Without lifting her gaze from her Styrofoam cup she said, "Looks like Gyatso is calling back the intern."

"The bald kid?"

"Shaved." She hesitated, unsure how to continue. "He's only twenty-three."

"A baby," Suki stated. She reached for a cup herself. "He'll get eaten alive here."

"I don't doubt it."

Suki raised a brow and elbowed the younger girl in the ribs. "He was kind of cute."

"Suki, please."

"My apologies, O Sacred Virgin Water Tribe."

"Knock it off." Katara laughed despite herself and took a sip. She considered telling Suki of Aang's new position but decided against it. She would find out in due time.

The rest of the day continued on in a blur, the hours long and blending. The deadline for two projects was fast approaching, but Katara couldn't find the will to work. It was as if her finish line, once close and in view, had extended several hills away. Slumped on her desk, Katara threw her hands in her hair and considered her misfortune. She could forfeit her position to Suki. She could quit, right then and there. Gyatso probably expected as much. Or did he expect her to stay on board despite the fact her promotion had been thwarted, possibly permanently?

"He knows I live for this company," Katara hissed to herself. "That asshole."

She immediately regretted badmouthing her supervisor and, troubled, she looked at her blank screen. Suki was typing away furiously in the glass cubicle across from her, her mouth pouting in focus, a few stray strands of hair swaying with her darting movements. Suki's prose needed work. It was too raw, not artful enough. Gyatso complained of its dryness by complimenting its "stark honesty." Katara was sure she was the only one who knew this was intended as a criticism. That was so like Gyatso, avoiding addressing the problem head-on. That's where Katara was necessary. She was the force behind any changes that happened here.

Her office phone buzzed and Katara pressed the speaker, suddenly irritated. "I'm here. What does he need?"

"He says his intern is coming and he wants you in the office," the secretary reported.

"Right this second?"

"Yes, Miss Katara."

"Grand, grand. I'll be there soon."

Groaning, Katara slipped on her blazer and checked her face in her pocket mirror. She didn't want to look upset or pissed. She would greet this new arrival with the same respect and professionalism she always used with her coworkers. Even if it was unfair. Even if he was some foolish kid. "For Gyatso," she said to herself. She locked her office door behind her and made a path down the hall.


	2. The Successor

_**Author's Note**: Many thanks for the positive feedback. Keep feeding back - even if it's negative. Your thoughts mean the world. XOXO, __scorpiaux_

* * *

Although his generous grinning could have easily been mistaken for foolishness, Aang Yangchen seemed soft-spoken and sensible. Overall, his manner was pleasant. He sat in the office chair with the same alert, open position as Gyatso, and with both men there, sitting calmly across from one another, the room was as quiet as a private study. Katara felt as though she was interrupting a meditation when both of them turned to find her opening the noisy office door.

"Your secretary sent me," she told Gyatso by way of apology. She gave a concise nod in Aang's direction and held out her hand. She met his eyes – the same storm cloud gray as Gyatso's. It was easy to smile for him though just minutes prior she was cursing his arrival. "Mr. Yangchen?" She raised her brows. "My name is Katara Kuruk. I'm the Publications Manager of the press."

"I am honored to meet you, Dr. Kuruk." He stood and took her hand in his. It was large, clammy and stark white at the knuckles, giving away his nervous first day. Katara looked up at him, surprised to find Aang a full head taller than her. She always wore heels to the office because she had read somewhere – or perhaps written it – that taller women were more imposing, that a tall female's striking stature demanded respect from like-heighted male coworkers, whereas a shorter woman would more closely resemble a "little girl." Even with her three-inch T. Lee heels, Katara had to tilt her head to find Aang's face.

"Not a 'doctor' yet," she responded lightly as he took his seat. "And 'Katara' will do. We aren't very formal in this office."

"Katara." The hesitance in his voice made her name sound delicate. Valuable.

"Yes, Mr. Yangchen?" She took the seat next to Gyatso, across the grand desk from Aang. Gyatso offered her a small espresso in a glass, which she sipped from with some urgency. She crossed her legs beneath her seat and removed a file from the shelves behind her.

Aang met her eyes once she turned around and said, the grin not leaving his face, "Then you must call me Aang. Not a 'mister' yet."

"Of course," she acquiesced. "Aang."

"Shall we get started?" Gyatso suggested, tapping the wire rim of his glasses. "We will want to have the paperwork finished by lunch."

"We have plenty of time," assured Katara. "It's still only 9:10."

"It might be complicated because Aang is not a citizen of the Earth Kingdom," Gyatso reported. "For his employment here, he will need two separate forms submitted to the state before the end of this month." Gyatso rubbed his temples with his forefingers and turned his face to the ceiling.

Katara watched the delicate, freckled skin of his scalp swirl with his movements. He was in his token caramel suite and blue tie, his white beard trimmed close to his face, his head cleanly shaved. Since her employment here, Katara had always admired Gyatso's neat character. Suddenly she found herself glancing over at the other Air Nomad descendant to compare, and wondered briefly if all the men of their nation were neat and well-composed. Her thoughts also drifted to her barbaric, hairy older brother – his paint-stained dress-shirts, his pants worn at the knees, his rusty razorblades and various toothbrushes gracing the bathroom sink. She smiled to herself, overcome with love and wonder.

Today, Aang's suite was gray, just as it was during his interning summer. Like Gyatso, his hair was cleanly shaved. He had bluish bags under his eyes that, despite his cheery demeanor, gave him a look of ache and distress. When he found Katara looking at him, returning his gaze, he quickly diverted his eyes to the maroon carpet and cleared his throat.

Forty-five years ago, when Gyatso had first moved into the office, he had anticipated finding a successor before his fiftieth birthday. Now Gyatso was seventy-three. This day – with this paperwork, these complications, these official transfers – was long overdue, and he was very tired. But he knew, at least, that he had found the right leader.

"I will find the necessary citizenship forms and submit them for Mr. Yangch – um, Aang," Katara proposed quickly. "I'll see to it that they are processed as soon as possible."

"He will have to fill them out himself."

"If he gives me his passport, I can do it."

"It's better that he completes them, my dear," Gyatso said gently. He put his withered hand on Katara's shoulder and smiled at her. "Not that I doubt you'll do a fine job, but they may want to see him in person. Sometimes there is an interview component. I don't anticipate any problems, however. For today, I only want you to handle the employment paperwork for his ownership of the press. He won't be official until February if we are lucky."

"Yes, Gyatso."

"We will also talk about my last project for the press," Gyatso told them both. If he was saddened by this news, it was not apparent in his tone or behavior. He quietly reached underneath his desk and removed a thick file, which he handed to Aang without presenting to Katara. She feigned an interest in the employment paperwork before her and attempted to remain aloof, but felt the skin beneath her eyebrow twitch.

"Dante's Inferno," Aang read aloud.

"Yes, that's the title," Gyatso joked.

"I didn't know you were doing research about that invasion," Aang admitted. "Is this a recent work? Are you allowed to publish this?" Katara watched as Aang nervously thumbed the edges of the file. It seemed as though he didn't want to open it. Katara knew about this project only because Gyatso had cited a future reference in one of his earlier articles: '_The following subject matter to be discussed in an upcoming publication, _Dante's Inferno_, publication date TBA.' _She felt thwarted and a little angry that Gyatso did not seem to want to share it with her.

"I've worked on it for most of my life," Gyatso answered boldly. His eyes glistened then, and he pulled on his tie, running his fists slowly over the silk material. "It discusses every aspect of the Dante's Inferno Invasion as told by the Fire Nation. Then I compare that to actual facts – I was there for that attack, you know. It's a miracle I made it out alive. But the research for this project was daunting. An incredible feat. I'm not sure which accomplishment is more impressive – my survival, or the retelling of it."

Katara and Aang laughed politely and Gyatso smiled.

"Both are equally remarkable," Katara said. She covered Gyatso's hand with hers. "You endured atrocities for both!"

In a heavy tone Aang commented, eyes on Gyatso, "Jokes aside, this is truly monumental." He hesitated then, looking first at Katara and then searching the clean glass of the adjacent window, the bright, clean city beneath. After clearing his throat, he mustered up the courage to look at the file. "As I told you last summer, I lost a great number of relatives to that invasion."

"We lost many good people those nine days," agreed Gyatso sadly. "I can see by the confused look on your face that you don't read the language of the ancients."

"I do," said Aang to Katara's surprise. "But these are just numbers."

"Ah, yes. Marvelous. Well, don't read too much there. Those are only logistics. Notes. Publication projections. The complete text is at my home. I don't bring it anywhere or take it out. If I could print it there, I would."

"You are wise. It's a valuable piece of literature," said Aang. "Homage to everything lost."

"I'm so sorry for your own losses," Katara said to him. She felt as though she did not have a place in this conversation, or this office, or the entire press. What Aang and Gyatso were discussing was so intimate, so sacred. Just being here to witness it made Katara feel exposed and vulnerable herself. "We didn't hear much about you the summer you were here. What a terrible thing to endure." Her voice was low, and the well-wish sounded like a whisper. But Aang heard her and nodded in her direction, his smile a little darker now.

In the pause that followed, Gyatso gulped down his remaining espresso and reclined back into the leather cushion of his chair. "Let's get down to business, shall we?" He turned the back of his chair to Katara, a method he always employed while giving her orders so that the effect was less direct for him, and began speaking. Katara hurriedly transcribed after him and Aang watched with amazement. Typing would have been faster and easier for her, but he knew Gyatso's policy towards technology. He wanted things done the old-fashioned way, the best way. Aang wondered if he would change this once he was in control.

"I, Gyatso Tenzin, in sound mind and spirit, on this day in January, Year of the Ox, hereby grant all ownership, possession, rights, and titles of Gaoxing Lunwen Press to my successor, Aang Yangchen of the Western Temple…"

As Katara furiously scribbled after him, Aang took note of her face and posture. Her eyes were ice – blue and cold – as they focused on her task. Her fingers were slender, long, and Aang noticed her red polish had chipped off the tip of her thumbnail. He imagined a nail-biting habit which, though contrived, endeared her to him. Gyatso's presence in the room had anesthetized the effect of such a remarkably attractive coworker, but as Aang watched her, he felt a budding fascination seize his heart full force.


	3. Divorced

_it was hot today, and i am writing this in a bra on the floor of my room. i apologize for typos & general sexual aggression. or perhaps, lack thereof. and of course - always, and forever - i am thankful for your continued feedback. keep feeding back, even if it's negative - it's how we grow as writers. and my updates seem to come faster when i know you are waiting for them - _

_xoxo, scorpiaux._

* * *

The girl was supposed to live with Jet. It wasn't Katara's decision, but it was written in their contract during the divorce – a paper she'd signed, initialed, and dated alongside her now ex-husband. The office their lawyers had chosen was cramped and frivolously windowed, the heat of August boiling them alive through flimsy cotton blinds. Jet's oddly composed posture across the table looked dark against the backdrop of the glowing, simmering city behind him.

He had remained aloof, adjusting his tie now and then, and he signed with a single "J" below Katara's embellished, italicized "_Katara H. Kuruk._" This gesture provoked her in a way she did not expect, and she crumpled in tears during the drive home, remembering how often they'd have sex in this car, or drive to the theater during evenings off work, or the day she bought the beat-up clunker during her junior year in college. He had hugged her and rattled the keys, proclaiming, "We can go anywhere we want now! The world is our oyster!" He followed this vast, noble claim by taking her in the back seat. Sweaty and starving, they drove to the Cabbage Stand afterwards, feasted on to-go wraps and sipped orange colas before driving back to the dorms. They stargazed in the parking lot until the security guard told them to stop loitering.

Remembering their university days led Katara, naturally, to remember her dormitory, and Jet's experienced mouth on her body, and their youth uncoiling together as they grew up, got married, and fell apart. It was just like this car. On the verge of collapse until one day, it happens, and no jump-starts or oil changes or lube can fix it.

When she returned to her apartment that day, she noticed Jet had left her a letter (or, more specifically, a napkin), and despite herself, her heart felt a little faint. If five years with the ultimate human failure had taught her anything, it was not to expect any humanity from him. And true to his nature, the note was not a good one. He was kicking her out. _I know we agreed that you'd stay at my place though the apartment will go to me_, he'd scribbled in purple Sharpie. _But frankly I need to rent the place out since I'm leaving my job at the restaurant and you can always just go live with your brother. Or the Fire Nation prick you were fucking behind my back. Whatever works for you_.

Then, at the end, there it was again. The corner of the napkin. That nonchalant, singular "J."

It was an ultimate low for him, but in retrospect, was she surprised? There was no "Fire Nation prick" to go back to – the affair was all in Jet's vivid imagination, a justification for his own multitude of affairs, his ocean of affairs, his never-ending loves with everyone who wasn't Katara. And Sokka? Would he want to shelter her after a healthy dose of "I told you so"? She was willing to take that chance. Five years with Jet had drained her, and Sokka was her only family not residing in a nursing home.

But the girl. The girl had stayed with Jet.

She wasn't Katara's daughter, but she easily could have been. This morning before heading off to work and finalizing Aang Yanchen's citizenship papers, Katara found a crumpled crayon drawing in her purse, and the sour feelings of the divorce flooded her morning, made her coffee bitter and her eggs tasteless. It had been six months since she'd last seen Lin. Little Lin-Lin. The only thing Jet had ever done right.

She turned the drawing around in her hands. She placed it next to her breakfast and sipped her coffee, running her fingers over the waxy, colorful array of hearts and stars. In the past, she had turned to work to distract her from this ache. The ache of missing a child… it was worse than the ache a man left because children were never in the wrong. And Katara knew Lin didn't understand why she and her father were no longer together. They had split a little over a year ago, and Lin, now six years old, still couldn't wrap her kindergarten brains around it.

When Jet explained that he and Katara were no longer in love, little Lin innocently attempted to play cupid. She drew a valentine in crayon and gave it to Katara, signing it with Jet's signature "J" at the corner. The gesture had stunned Katara to silence, as it did now. This girl wasn't hers. Jet won the custody battle without having to fight it, and Katara's weekend visits were only possible because of Lin's mother's indifference towards the matter. She was an Earth Kingdom native, and reportedly very rich, but she saw Lin less than Katara did. Her fling with Jet was a one-night stand and the abortionist had failed to deflate her looming belly. Lin was nothing short of a miracle.

Of course, since Jet confessed to Katara that he had a child early in their relationship, Lin was a miracle in that sense too – she was one of Jet's flaws that Katara had seamlessly, willingly accepted. She was every mistake Jet had made that Katara had already forgiven.

Lin was unconditional love. And she permitted Katara and Jet to have a "married with child" relationship that they would not have had otherwise. Katara got to play mom without having to go through childbirth. If nothing else, she was thankful for that, though five years of make-believe had instilled the role in her bones. She was suffering from mommy withdrawal, and she knew it.

Lin's routine had soaked up all of Katara's maternal instincts. Even on nights when Jet didn't come home, out jumping from bed to bed like a flea, Katara and Lin never let it faze them. They stayed up, painted their toenails, and watched Wan Shi Tong Sing-a-Long until they fell asleep. Truly Lin had been her confidant through it all without even knowing. Last Katara heard, Lin's mother was picking up the slack, and Lin now lived with her in a large estate in the north. Jet left a message on her answering machine about two weeks ago. "Hey. Just wanted to let you know that the kiddo's a-okay. She lives with her mom now in the provinces. They're close. Hope you're okay. Uh. I'm leaving for the North Pole in a week so you probably won't hear from me in a while. Got a new gig up there... Well, see you around."

Gig? Gig, she wondered. What career path was he doing justice to now? She never knew where his money came from, even when they were together. His professional life was an enigma. The best answer she ever got out of Jet when she asked, as directly as possible, what he did for a living, and how he was paying their combined expenses, was a broad smile and a suggestion "not to worry about it." Legitimate indeed.

Sokka was already out and about, and Katara was running late. She folded the drawing back up and zipped her purse. She buttoned her blazer. For the rest of the day, she went through the motions of being awake without feeling like she left the bed. Even Suki's double espresso shot didn't get her in the mood for work. It was well enough, too, because Aang Yangchen did not show up when he was supposed to.

"Train wreck," Suki accused mercilessly. "I knew he wouldn't last. It's day one and he's not here?"

"He might be getting his paperwork from the bureau," Katara defended lamely. "He isn't a citizen yet and it's causing us issues."

"You're on his side now?"

"Whatever is left of it. I was looking over his file last night and he isn't qualified at all. I almost feel bad for him." Katara shook her head in disbelief. "But it's all his now anyway, isn't it? So we have to let it go."

"I know you're just as bitter as I am," Suki said. "This should have been yours."

"I _am_ bitter. But he's helping Gyatso with a project on the Dante's Inferno Invasion. I respect that immensely. I'm just going to let it go."

There was a pause, and Katara gazed at the ceiling of her office, clearly distracted. Suki, as perceptive as ever, hummed, "Your mind's on something else," and crossed her arms.

Katara feigned a laugh. "It's true," she admitted. "But nothing we can fix." She let her eyes float to her purse hanging on the coat rack. Suki had taken it upon herself to cover the coat rack with stickers when Katara purchased it a few months back. It looked ridiculous, but it definitely lifted the vibe of the room.

"I'll come back for you," the older girl warned. "We're going to talk about this. And we're going out tonight. Bring your sexy brother."

"I can't promise he'll be there! And don't be so thirsty. He's bad for you." Their on and off affairs annoyed Katara, who had to listen to both sides after a fight, then take sides, then reconcile them both.

Suki winked and laughed, dancing back to her own desk, already anticipating an evening full of rumba and wine. Once she left, Katara hung up Lin's crayon masterpiece next to the only portrait she had in the office, an old shot of her and her brother, smiling with missing teeth into the camera as young children, holding up two fish on separate hooks. It was the last day they spent with their father before he was imprisoned. Lin's drawing lessened the effect of this day – those two children smiling in that frame, frozen in time, could have easily created the crayon drawing themselves. But there was one thing Katara did change. With her scissors, she snipped the "J" from the corner, wadded her gum in it, and threw it in the trash.

She then dedicated the remainder of her day to Aang's paperwork, and delighted in seeing his sweaty frame hustle up the stairs, already an hour late, his briefcase partially open and his tie off to the side. She giggled without meaning to, and he caught her eye as he made his way to Gyatso's office, smiled back, and winked. She didn't know why, but it finally felt like morning.


End file.
